


The Grim Remembers

by snakeowls



Series: R/S 24 Hour Challenge works [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon Compliant, M/M, Memories, Recovered Memories, Winter, rs24hrchallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeowls/pseuds/snakeowls
Summary: Sirius spends a winter in the Forbidden Forest and starts to remember.Set during Prisoner of Azkaban.





	The Grim Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the R/S 24 Hour Challenge set by pommedeplume: Winter Moods - spilled glitter, a dusty bookshelf, a locked box, a mutual interest, an unexpected guest.
> 
> Many thanks to Wildflame for the super speedy beta and Goodfrith for the encouragement :)

The low morning sun makes the frost sparkle like glitter. Day by day his memories are slowly creeping back, and he has plenty of time to think on them. They’re often triggered by something innocuous like the glint off a frosty branch, catapulting his mind back to Lily making Muggle Christmas decorations. Those little tubes of glitter spilled all over the kitchen table, reflecting the light and laughter of the room. Of baubles and tinsel and stars on top of the tree.

Not all of the memories are painful. Some are mundane snippets of being fitted for robes for another family wedding, or a New Year’s Eve spent out of the way amongst the comfort of dusty bookshelves, reminding him of his real home. The library was often ignored in Kreacher’s cleaning duties in favour of his mother’s parlour. Appearance is everything, after all, and guests will never visit the library. 

He pulls his shabby coat tighter around his bones, ineffective against the cold winter winds that whistle through the trees and into his makeshift shelter and send him straight back to Azkaban. His bare cell. Shivering huddled on the floor and scratching a tally in his flesh for another full moon spent alone. Sometimes spending the night as Padfoot, his wretched howls punctuating the screams of the other unfortunates and wondering if his Moony can still hear him. 

The most painful of all are the ones that he tried so hard to keep hidden for all those years, stashed away safely in the dark recesses of his mind. Triple-locked in a heart-shaped box. Each time he dared to sneak a peek inside the Dementors sensed it and Padfoot would have to be guard dog, but even he was too afraid to growl and snap and could only cower. 

Memories like their first kiss, which would have been wholly unremarkable had it not been the culmination of months of dancing around each other, both too terrified to make a move in case the interest wasn’t mutual. Memories like James and Lily’s wedding, watching Him dance waltz after jig after reel with enthusiastic partners and wishing that it could be him, but they had appearances to keep up too. Quiet evenings at home, taking comfort in each other. 

He’s in the castle too, the last time he was there, padding through the long-abandoned passageways he could smell Him. That familiar old scent of ink and wolf and pack that made Padfoot whimper and want to sniff Him out and curl around his legs and beg for forgiveness for ever doubting Him. 

But he can’t think about that now. The cat brought him the passwords and tonight he will go back into the Tower, find the rat and finally commit the murder that he was convicted for. One of them. And only ever one. He lies in wait, not long now. 


End file.
